There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower
That long has lean'd forward, leans hour after hour!--
Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound,
While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. 40

Now, Coaches and Chariots, roar on like a stream;
Here are twenty souls happy as Souls in a dream:
They are deaf to your murmurs--they care not for you,
Nor what ye are flying, or what ye pursue!





_TO THE DAISY_.
The two following Poems were overflowings of the mind in
composing the one which stands first in the first Volume.


With little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,
Which Love makes for thee!